


Allure

by lesetoiles



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: 4 + 1 things, A little OOC but it's been awhile, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Oswald has a terrible crush and it's eating away at his very being, Pining, Seductive Edward, Unresolved Sexual Tension, some canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 22:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9261941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesetoiles/pseuds/lesetoiles
Summary: 4 times Edward didn't know he was attractive and the one time he did.





	

 

### I.

Oswald never thought much of romance.

              It sprung to his mind on occasion while stalking the streets of Gotham, seeing lovers’ hands interlaced, whispers mere vapors in the cold air, pointing to the shop windows selling red hearts. Such flagrant displays of infatuation stirred nothing inside Oswald – just disdain for the slow pedestrians. Love’s appeal was lost on him. It represented a distraction, another weakness for his enemies to exploit. He had proof – his mother, the one person he loved, was ripped from this world in cold blood. He could not afford another heartbreak. He could not afford to be weak again.

Watching the moonlight dance on the damp pavement, puddles rippling with every high shriek of his unfortunate target, a smile curled on his lips. The man was an old associate of Fish, a vital player in his quest for power. He revealed the necessary information without much force, but his connection to Fish necessitated his immediate demise. What better, more clichéd way to go than in a dark alley?

Ed had an art for this kind of thing, he thought. Each stab was a calculated move, graceful and swift. The darkness shielded his face except for the maniacal glint in his eyes. There was something beautiful in the way he lost himself in the performance. His victim’s pleas seemed to only motivate him to draw out the torture. A gun may have been quicker and cleaner but he would’ve missed out on the show.

              Soon the man died and the display was over. Edward’s hands were covered in crimson, small splatters visible on his glasses. He sighed and removed them, using a handkerchief to clean himself. Lights and shadow interplayed on his sharp features, dramatic and frightening. The juxtaposition of the mundanity of such a human problem – the exasperation of making a mess–and their current crime was almost comical. It drew no giggles from Oswald. Instead, he observed Edward intently. He cleaned his lenses with the obsessive attention he only reserved for unimportant things (and not—per se – for things like normal conversations). It was like seeing an actor out of character but still in costume--a man caught between two worlds.

Oswald didn’t remember being this poetic. Especially about a person cleaning his glasses. It disturbed him. Wrapped in his thoughts, he did not hear Edward’s question.

“I’m sorry?” He asked, startled out of his stupor.

Ed frowned, “I said a man who built it doesn’t want it, the man who bought—“

“Now’s not the time Mr. Nygma, this time sensitive,” Oswald interrupted, annoyed mostly at himself, “Put the body in the car.”

Edward adjusted his glasses. There was still a bit of blood on his right cheek, “As you wish, Mr. Cobblepot.”

### II.

It was an odd thing having undying loyalty.

              It was hard to come across in Gotham. People were shrouded in murk, always waiting to strike. It had gotten even worse as Oswald climbed the ladder of the demimonde, souring his already pessimistic view of people. Only did the threat of bodily harm or blackmail ensure that his allies would remain allies. The idea that someone would willingly assist him without any ulterior motive or extortion involved was a foreign concept to him.

              It was still a foreign concept to him as he watched Ed drink the tea he made. The firelight flickered and finessed itself across Ed’s face, emphasizing his high cheekbones and nose. He could see the deep purple ring around his neck where Butch strangled him. The moment had replayed frequently in Oswald’s mind since then, watching Ed’s eyes dim as he slowly lost oxygen, igniting a primal instinct inside him each time. One that shook him to his core.

Uncomfortable with this realization, he sought a distraction, “How do you like the tea? It was my mother’s recipe.”

“It’s good. Thank you, Oswald.” Ed replied hoarsely. Silence hung in the air, stirred by the heat of the room. It was odd and heavy, full of things unsaid. Hoping to lighten the load, Oswald opened his mouth, but Ed interrupted.

“It’s no problem Oswald,” He assured, “I would have done it again.”

“Wait really because I—”

“Yes,” Ed said softly, “anything for you.”

              Oswald paused, stunned. Heat spread to his limbs as a prickly sensation blossomed on his scalp. He struggled to find a response but words left him, obscured by that instinct. Louder and stronger, it pushed him to hug the man. They’d shared a few hugs in the past. Ed seldom hugged back – in fact, he was sure the action made the man feel a little awkward – but this time he returned the gesture, even patting his back a few times.

Ed’s small smile generated a fluttery feeling in his stomach. While the atmosphere seemed lighter, Oswald felt electricity ricocheting off the walls. He wondered if a storm was coming, even if his bad knee did not hurt.

             

### III.

              Unfortunately, it took another week and a half of hapless denial before he completely accepted that his feelings for Ed were not so platonic. Within this time frame, he’d suddenly morphed into an overstimulated teenage girl, flinching at touches and blushing at any proximity. One particularly mortifying incident involved him turning bright red and almost fainting at the sight of Ed half-naked. Luckily, it was easy to play off as exhaustion from his mayoral duties. It was quite a feat hiding his attraction for a man he saw almost daily. He was lucky that Ed, with all his intelligence, was completely clueless when it came to romance.

              Once he accepted his love for his partner-in-crime, everything became easier. He understood the appeal of such feelings—it changed your entire perspective. He felt happier and more optimistic. Everything tasted better. Even Gotham’s cloudy days seemed brighter. If things could be this great, he could only imagine how great things could be if he actually confessed. The idea gnawed at his brain every time they were together. Every moment he swelled with even a little courage, it was snuffed out by some interruption or Ed’s unnatural ability to render him speechless with a simple look. At least the blushing mostly stopped.

Regrettably, like many things that brought him happiness, their potential relationship was ripped from him by a cruel god. That god appeared in the form of Isabella, the librarian with an uncanny resemblance to Ed’s deceased girlfriend. Any sane man would run screaming from the hills. But as Oswald had deduced (as Oswald had loved), Edward was anything but sane. He was absolutely smitten and Oswald was devastated.

              The last straw came one particularly gray afternoon after arriving home from another lunch Ed missed. He’d slammed the door closed in a huff and was ready to eat his feelings in the dining room when he was greeted by the very last scene he’d wanted to see.

              Ed and Isabella, bodies meshed, muscles rippling. They were in various stages of undress--Ed’s pants unbuttoned and jacket shrugged off, Isabella in a bra and her skirt hiked high – determined to suck each other’s faces off. So determined in fact that they hadn’t noticed Oswald walk through the threshold. Not that he made any effort to alert them of his presence – the array of emotions whirling his mind had short-circuited his brain. It wasn’t until Ed’s lips made their way down Isabella’s body that he’d found his rage.

“Ed!” He screeched, tearing the aura of intimacy. Scrambling to find some semblance of decency, they stuttered through their excuses. Isabella, withering under Oswald’s glower, soon found the pursuit fruitless and shuffled out the door, disheveled and shoeless.

He was left with just Edward and all the shock and anger morphed into embarrassment and betrayal. A flush crept up his neck, seeing Ed caught between shame and arousal, and he struggled to keep his composure. Hopefully, Ed would think the red was fury.

“Oswald I can explain--”

“Ed,” he repeated more dangerously, crossing his arms, “care to tell enlighten me to what was so important in Isabella’s mouth that it prevented you from making lunch?”

Ed gaped, his mind-slip apparent. He looked down at the floor like a child about to be disciplined. It would be hilarious if Oswald didn’t feel so nauseous.

“I don’t want her here anymore. Not ever.” He stated simply. Edward nodded and rushed out of the room, not wanting to incur any other potential punishment.

_Good_ , Oswald thought as tears pricked his eyes. He counted back from ten, pretending it was the amount of days Isabella had left.

### IV.

              Grief was a strange thing. Its effect on people was akin to an ocean – vast and unending, threating to suffocate its unfortunate victims in its abyss. Oswald remembered the days following his mother’s untimely end. He was stuck between living and drowning, a delirium only broken by Edward’s care. He credited Edward for talking him off cliff and reigniting his passion for power. Except this time, the desire was to share power. To wield it with the one person he’d deemed worthy since his mother. The one person crazier than himself. He found it no coincidence that blood was the same color as love.

He was also convinced that guilt was a lot more smothering than grief could ever be.

              His throat dried, thinking of Ed on the same ledge he’d been on not too long ago. He’d reacted to Isabella’s death with little more than a wince – much less dramatically than their unexpected breakup. However, he knew all too well how unpredictable grief could be. How long it took to grab you with its cold and unforgiving hands.

              Ed returned from the morgue late afternoon, slipping inside the mansion quietly. Still, Oswald woke from the dinner table once the door clicked. He’d appeared to acquire a sixth sense about Ed. The man had cemented himself as a permanent part of his heart and it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. They shared a gaze, brief but meaningful, before Edward spoke in shuttering whispers.

“Oswald, I saw her body. I saw the car,” Ed said, Oswald getting up from his chair, prepared to play physical and emotional support. Before he could interrupt, Ed continued, “I think she’s been murdered.”

Oswald’s blood turned to ice, but he masked it with outrage, “Really? That’s completely unacceptable!” He placed a hand on his shoulder, “I swear to you Ed, we will find the monster that did this and bring them to justice.”

Ed paused, an unfamiliar expression flashing on his face. It was replaced with a grateful sigh, “Thank you Oswald. I’m glad I can count on you.”

              Hope bloomed in his heart, briefly distracting him from lead ball at the pit of his stomach. He felt his throat closing as words threatened to spill from his mouth. Words better left unspoken – at least for now. For now, he settled for a smile. He could be sustained by smiles.

### V.

He was a murderer. Literal scum of the earth. A man deserving of only the most excruciating torture.

Edward would give the world in order to remake Oswald in blood.

              In a way, Oswald killing Isabella made sense. The man was twisted – ruthless and unmerciful to his soul. His one anchor to a moral existence had been unjustly taken from him. Ironically, it was what they’d shared. It was what brought them together.

Now, knowing his second chance at happiness had been stolen—and by a person he’d called a friend—pierced Ed’s heart deeply. The wound would heal. Harder. Colder.

His mind focused on revenge. It would be easier to just kill the man. But, Edward did not want easy. He wanted Oswald to suffer. To destroy his very being.

              It was Barbara’s idea. He was hesitant at first, being very awkward about romance and having only one very drunk experience with a man, but her explanation intrigued him. It sounded like psychology, a subject he’d always enjoyed. He analyzed her advice while his alter-ego— _him_ —absorbed the skill. They were the perfect team.

He approached Oswald late the next night, taking all the necessary steps to set the mood. Warmth coated Oswald’s office, a distant smell of vanilla wafting from the crack in his door. Ed wore his green suit—the one Oswald said brought out his eyes—and waited, Oswald still focused on his paperwork. Taking a deep breath, he approached the desk slowly. Oswald’s attention broke once Ed was about halfway.

He rose from his chair, confused but pleased, “What are you doing up so late, Ed?”

“I could be asking the same. Hitting the grind, I expect?”

“Yes, well I seemed to have forgotten my mayoral duties helping you with Isabelle,”

              Ed clenched his fists at his mistake. He wanted so desperately to wrap his hands around Oswald’s neck. See his expression turn from realization to fear. Burn his remains. No one would find him for weeks.

              Oswald sighed suddenly, eyes half-lidded. The candle was beginning to have an effect. Startled out of his murder fantasy, he assumed the role both foreign and second nature to him. He leaned in slightly, letting Oswald smell his cologne.

“And I appreciate you doing so for me Oswald,” he replied, voice huskier than normal, “I believe with your expertise, the perpetrator will soon be found.” He combed an idle hand through his hair for good measure, smirking a little when Oswald’s eyes glossed over.

“I will exhaust every resource until they are.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he drawled, moving closer until there was just a breath between them. He took momentary pleasure seeing Oswald flinch. Barbara was right. This was kinda fun.

Now to go in for the kill, “Oswald, I am so,” Edward waved his hand, searching for the right word. He found it on Oswald’s arm, stroking subtly with his thumb, “excited for our partnership. I think we’ll accomplish great things.”

He saw Oswald swallow, flush rising in his freckled face, “I believe so as well. We’ll begin as soon as justice is served.”

His lips curled like a cat, inches away from his ear. “I can’t wait,” he whispered.

              He considered kissing him and cultivating a romance. Make it more direct. Oswald’s longing look stopped him. Stoking his desire, instilling optimism, and dangling him from this rope could be more effective.

Oswald’s hand twitched as if it wanted to reach for him. _Yes_ , Edward thought, _reach Penguin_

And then,

_Snip._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if this wasn't great. It's been a while since I've written fic but these boys were killing me and I just had to write something. Hope you liked it!


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